


What Dreams May Come

by phyncke



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-09
Updated: 2018-02-09
Packaged: 2019-03-15 17:23:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13618101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phyncke/pseuds/phyncke
Summary: Boromir lives on into the 4th Age. He has unsettling dreams which cause him to question his life. Aragorn has similar dreams which trouble him. They reflect on their time during the War of the Ring and their love.





	What Dreams May Come

**Author's Note:**

  * For [monkiainen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/monkiainen/gifts).



> This is an AU story imagining that Boromir lives on to old age. There is death in this tale, be warned.

Title: What Dreams May Come

Author: phyncke

Beta: Khylea

Rating: G

Pairing: Boromir/Aragorn

Warnings: Character death implied.

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they are the property of JRR Tolkien and his estate, and I have borrowed them for my own amusement and for yours I hope.   
Feedback: Much appreciated.

Written for:  monkiainen

Summary: Boromir lives on into the 4th Age. He has unsettling dreams which cause him to question his life. Aragorn has similar dreams which trouble him. They reflect on their time during the War of the Ring and their love.

 

 

4th Age Gondor – During the Reign of Aragorn, Son of Arathorn.

 

Boromir’s dreams were troubled of late as though his mind was working on a problem it could not solve. He woke up in the morning tangled in the sheets and sweating, truly a mess and not rested. Usually Estel had already arisen so his love was not there to discuss his disturbing night’s reveries. Events from the war coming back to the fore, thoughts from long ago and choices made that had impacted all of their lives at the time and for years to come. This was disquieting to be sure.

 

He shook his head as he headed to the bath chamber, wiping his face as he got to the mirror. He pulled down on his beard looking into his own eyes and could see that he had not rested the previous night. That was what happened when one dreamt about death – one’s own death.

 

It had been as though he had been killed by the Uruk Hai that day defending the halflings. Aragorn had been too late and had not saved him. His life had ended there and then. He placed a hand on his shoulder where the one arrow had hit, the ragged scar was evident having healed long ago and was only a faint mark. He’d only really been hit by the one arrow but in the dream there had been more, enough to end his life.

 

He poured water into the basin and splashed cold water onto his face, hoping to dispel the images and feelings from the dream. The pain, the loss, the hopelessness. He did remember that Estel’s face was the last had seen in that life and that was a comfort. Their hands had twined over his sword and they had spoken of the White City. Aragorn had vowed to restore the honor of Gondor and Boromor had passed in peace, assured that all would be well.

 

His friends had then laid him to rest with his weapons and shield and cloven horn in one of the boats from Lothlórien and set him to float down the Anduin River. He had watched in reverie as his corpse passed the shores and down over the Falls of Rauros in the little boat and onward on its course.

 

“Such an odd dream to have.”

 

He grabbed a towel and dried off his face continuing on with his ablutions. The odd feelings from the dream lingered, a feeling of sadness and discomfort. He returned to the bedchamber to dress for the day. He knew he had to go meet Faramir on Prince’s business and so did not want to keep him waiting. They both had been made princes in the post-war order. Boromir was Prince of Minas Tirith and oversaw the rebuilding of the City after the war. Faramir was given the new land of Ithilien to preside over. He felt that his brother had earned the responsibility through his bravery during the war and should be rewarded with a position worthy of him. Very often they worked together on matters and enjoyed it very much. Thus it had worked remarkably well and all were content with the arrangement. So it had been since Denethor had died after the war.

 

He chose a black tunic with the white tree insignia, a pair of leggings and sat down to pull on socks and his boots. He left his sword in its stand in the corner. These were peaceful times and there were no dangers in Minas Tirith though at times they did spar to remind themselves what it was like to have a good fight. Usually that was with practice swords so no untoward accidents could happen. It would not do to kill the king with an accidental blow or anything like that.

 

Boromir would have liked to talk to Aragorn about his dream and he feared he would forget it later. Sometimes dreams faded away from his mind as the day went on and he might not remember it as vibrantly as it was in his mind now. He took a moment to jot down some notes in his journal. The book was for the most part blank as he was not a faithful writer. But it served its purpose now and he could summarize the dream to recount later. There. That would suffice until he could talk to Estel that evening. He shut the book and went to have his breakfast with Faramir in the Citadel as was their daily custom when he was in Minas Tirith. He strode out of the chamber leaving the worn leather journal on the side table with the ribbon marker in the last page he had written on.

 

/--/

 

Aragorn felt distracted this morning. He was hearing petitions in the throne room and was trying to listen but was having trouble concentrating on the substance of what each petitioner claimed. He could hear the words but his thoughts were on other things – specifically his dreams from the previous night. They were very disturbing and carried with him into his day. He could not shake the feeling of unease. It was not as though the dreams were real but it had felt real and it was very disconcerting. In the dream he had been too late to save Boromir from the orcs who had captured Merry and Pippin, the Uruk-hai from Isengard. He arrived at the clearing just in time to see the last arrow fly and hit the man full in the chest.

 

He remembered the helpless feeling at the time and then the rage which overcame him. He fought the Uruk recklessly and was almost killed himself. In reality, this had happened but at an earlier time in the battle. Boromir had been hit by an arrow but only in the shoulder. He carried the scar from that wound to this day.

 

But the dream, the dream…it was awful. Aragorn vanquished the creature by lopping off its head and then ran to Boromir’s side. He was riddled with arrows, two or three at least, breathing labored and laying on the ground. The halflings were gone but he had eyes only for the Man of Gondor. They spoke and he promised to aid Gondor and Boromir died before his eyes, comforted by his last words. In reality, he had pulled the arrow from Boromir’s shoulder, hastily dressed his wound and then they (along with Gimli and Legolas) had decided to pursue the Uruks who had taken Merry and Pippin.

 

He wondered at the reason for this dream. There must be some reason. Was he taking Boromir for granted? Was this a message from Mandos somehow? Or Lórien? He did not know. He just knew that he felt indescribable sorrow in the dream and remnants of that feeling today in his waking world. He knew he did not neglect Boromir and valued him greatly. That could not be it.

 

He made a decision as regards the petition before him regarding grazing rights on a fertile plain to the satisfaction of all involved even with partial attention to the matter. He had seen enough people for the day and decided to adjourn until tomorrow so that he could regroup and seek out Boromir to assure himself of his lover’s wellbeing. Somehow the dream had seemed so real that he needed to be sure that Boromir still lived and that all was well.

 

He went to the citadel and peeked in and saw that Boromir was breakfasting with Faramir and breathed a sigh of relief. He retreated without interrupting as he could not find a plausible explanation for being there. He went back to the King’s meeting rooms.

 

/---/

 

3rd Age – War of the Ring – Battle of Pelennor Fields

 

Boromir could not help but be uncomfortable in the presence of the Army of the Dead. He fought beside them, sure, and they won the day at the Battle of Pelennor Fields. This was glorious. But he could not escape the feeling that he was fighting with those who were dead and from beyond the world as it was. The hair stood up on the back of his neck and made for some discomfort as he slashed his way through the battlefield.

 

That Aragorn could summon this kind of fighting force proved to him beyond any doubt that he was the heir to the throne of Gondor. They’d had adventures along the way so far – finding Gandalf again, in Rohan and onward to the Paths of Dead and now they were victorious in the battle to end all battles against Sauron in front of Minas Tirith. The city had suffered some damage but would survive this and go on into the next age. Boromir was happy to see it and be amongst friends as they vanquished this great evil.

 

Ever since being saved from the Uruks, the man of Gondor had the feeling he was blessed somehow. If it were not for Aragorn, he would be dead, stuck with arrows and dead. He knew this and it was a strange feeling. He was very grateful to the Ranger and they maintained a very close relationship through all of their adventures on their way to Gondor. He had confessed to the other man that he had coveted the One Ring but understood his wisdom in letting Frodo go on his own way with Samwise Gamgee to Mordor, fraught with peril though that was. All ways had their own dangers and the danger of the corrupted hearts of the Men of Gondor was too big a risk to take for the heir to the throne. The Ring’s sway was too powerful and men too weak to withstand its lure. Boromir knew this now more than anyone. He realized that the Ring had been working on him all through their journey to the point where he had confronted Frodo. The steward’s son had to accept that he had been too weak to withstand the influence of the One Ring and had fallen into the Dark Lord’s trap. Aragorn had been stronger and wiser in this regard and able to release Frodo to go to Mordor.

 

For this reason, Boromir had pledged himself to Aragorn’s service and recognized that he was the true heir to the throne of Gondor, descended from Isildur. He followed him into danger at every turn. He had worried for a time at Helm’s Deep when Aragorn was missing and was mightily relieved when he returned – bedraggled but alive. He did not recognize at that time what these feelings meant but the depths of his emotions surprised him. He had never felt such things for another man before and did not know if Aragorn returned his sentiments. He also knew that Arwen, the Elf Maiden, loved Aragorn and that was also a complication.

 

He did not know what to do or how to behave so he just observed and fought, fought and observed and did his very best for the cause that they were defending – the very fates of the peoples of Middle Earth.

 

/---/

 

Aragorn stood on Pelennor Field, the wind blowing looking at the devastation around him when confronted by the King of the Army of the Dead.

 

“Release us….we have fulfilled our oath. Release us.”

 

Gimli grumbled that this was a bad idea and that they were good to have around but there was no honor in that. He would fulfill his end of the bargain, of course.

 

“Go in peace. I hold your oath fulfilled.”

 

A strong wind came up at the end of his sentence and the Army of the Dead appeared to dissipate in the breeze, free to go to the beyond place where dead souls go.

 

His gaze found Boromir leaning on his broad sword. The man was tall and well built and had fought bravely through the long battle. It had been good to have him along through the trials and adventures they’d had and now at the end of the battle they had yet more to do. They must restore the city and heal those wounded in the fight and bury the dead in places of honor. Gondor and Rohan both had lost many here this day. Their loss would not be in vain.

 

Aragorn could not help but think that Boromir looked especially rugged and attractive. The stench of battle was still on him and his hair was a mess around his face but they had fought side by side all through out and saved each other many times over. He would have died more than once, had the steward’s son not been there to deflect a blow or kill a very determined orc. They fought very well together as though it were a dance, moving in tandem parrying and thrusting their way through Sauron’s fell army.

 

“Aragorn, Aragorn…”

 

Someone was speaking to him. Legolas.

 

“Yes?”

 

“We should repair to the city and check on the wounded. The hands of the King are the hands of a healer it is told.”

 

“Yes, you are right.”

 

They all turned as Pippin cried out. He had found Merry, wounded but still alive. He was grievously hurt and would need care in the House of Healing. They made a makeshift litter out of a shield and some wood from a nearby wagon. With this they could transport the unconscious hobbit into the city. Pippin trailed close behind, not willing to leave his friend for a moment and not wanting to let him out of his sight.

 

Boromir felt the same way about Aragorn and wondered at that. Estel was not wounded in battle yet he could not stand the thought of being away from him. He kept close to him in the City and aided him as he healed those injured at Pelennor. What he saw was horrific but Aragorn kept calm throughout. His manner was soothing and he did indeed have the healing talents of the heir of Isildur. He called for kingsfoil or athelas as it was known. Some considered it a weed but in the hands of the King, it had strong healing properties.

 

Hour after hour he worked, toiling away with the wounded. Some were beyond his help but many were not. He saved as those he could. Boromir spent some time with him and also went walking through Minas Tirith surveying the damage, the crushed walls and buildings from the enemy’s catapults. The gate had been destroyed by their battering ram, Grond, they had called it. He gave some orders to those who were still able to stand and work -- take the enemy dead out of the city and burn them and preserve honorable dead for burial. There would be many ceremonies and remembrances in the coming months for those who had perished in this battle. They would be commemorated as was fitting.

 

Boromir ambled back to the House of Healing and looked in on his brother, Faramir. His wounds were indeed bad and the tales told of his father’s temporary madness in sending his younger sibling back out into the fray as ill advised. Would that he had been there to stay this action. Denethor was contained in the Citadel by Gandalf who worked his wizardly ways on the Steward. Evidently, without anyone’s knowledge his father had been gazing into the Palantir and trying to match wits with Sauron. Now that WAS madness. No wonder Denethor was so disturbed. Boromir decided to wait a while before having an audience with his father as he wanted to face a calmer man.

 

Boromir applied cool compresses to Faramir’s forehead and watched him sleep for some time. He dearly loved his younger brother and wished he had been able to protect him from Denethor’s rage. He had always been a buffer of sorts between them and when he had gone to Rivendell, he had worried about what might happen. This was the outcome; one nearly dead and one gone to madness. At least they both yet lived. They were all alive – that was something.

 

He left instructions with the healer to summon him should his brother awaken. Boromir wanted to speak with him about many things – their experiences, Denethor and his sighting of the hobbits in Osgiliath. There was much to discuss. He would not tax him overmuch but would gain necessary information as gently as possible.

 

He found Aragorn in the Hall of the Steward soon to be renamed the Hall of the King. They were discussing what could be done to aid Frodo and Sam in their quest to destroy the One Ring. Ideas were suggested and bandied about – a stealth mission to find them and escort them to Mount Doom – this would take too long and was doomed to failure. There was no guarantee that they could locate Frodo and Sam as they would have to search all through the land of Mordor. No, this was not a good plan.

 

After other plans were suggested and discarded, they finally settled on a full frontal assault on the Black Gate of Mordor with all of their remaining troops. While there was little chance of success, this would create a diversion and very likely cause Sauron to empty his lands to surround them. This would clear a path to Mount Doom for Frodo and Sam to the flames from whence it came. They would march right up to that fell place and confront the Dark Lord in his own lands.

 

“Count me in.” Gimli laughed gruffly.

 

All present – Legolas, Aragorn, Eomer, Gimli, and Boromir agreed to the plan and so set about putting it into action. Merry and Pippin were yet in the House of Healing while Merry recuperated from his wounds from the battle. He had been very brave in facing the Witch King and aiding Eowyn in vanquishing that great evil. It was all at great cost as he had felt ice cold after stabbing the chief of the ringwraiths. He was doing much better and would try to go with them to the Black Gate if he could. He wanted to help Frodo and Sam as much as possible.

 

Preparations were hastily made. The troops mustered, weapons cleaned and sharpened and horses outfitted for the trek to the edge of Mordor. They were in high spirits for this hopeless mission and Boromir got into the spirit of it with gusto. He roused the guard of Gondor and sought arms for them, getting them ready in all due haste. As they left on the road through Osgiliath and marched along the road to the Black Gate they were a somber group. Many thought that they were riding to their doom though it was for a good cause.

 

At the Black Gate it all happened very fast . Aragorn gave a rousing and spirited speech and approached and treated with the minion of Sauron. They saw that he had the mithril shirt that Frodo had worn during his journey and this made them despair that the hobbit yet lived. Determined to keep to the plan, Aragorn retreated and charged the forces of the Dark Lord Sauron. All seemed lost, truly. They were surrounded by orcs, trolls and goblins and fighting for their lives. Boromir and Aragorn fought side-by-side, guarding each other’s backs and ensuring their survival. They had not come this far to perish in a horrible way. They would survive as long as possible.

 

Gimli and Legolas were counting their vanquished and the hobbits, Merry and Pippin were striking at the feet of the enemy with their tiny blades. Eomer fought valiantly as well, rousing his Rohirrim to great deeds this day. Suddenly, it all changed and they knew that Frodo had succeeded in his quest. The Tower of the Eye of Sauron suddenly exploded and cracked on its foundation and all that Sauron had wrought was suddenly unmade. The earth opened up and swallowed the orcs and fell creatures they had been fighting and the Black Gate itself toppled into the ground.

 

“Frodo! Frodo!” Merry yelled.

 

“He has done it!” Boromir shouted so Aragorn could hear him.

 

There was much joy as they struggled to stay on solid ground and watched in shock as Mount Doom erupted into a moulten volcano.

 

/---/

 

Aragorn was crowned King in Minas Tirith at the dawning of the 4th Age. Boromir would always remember that day as it was beautiful on the plaza and all were gathered in joy to witness the ceremony. The new King looked especially handsome in new armor and the tree was blossoming behind him, finding new life in this New Age. All were hopeful, all were content.

 

Boromir had resolved to serve the new King for the rest of his life. He had pledged his loyalty and fealty to Aragorn and deep down knew it was much more than this though he did not know if the sentiments were returned. He would wait and see. There was much cause for jubilation and much work to be done in this new age and they would work together for the betterment of all mankind and Arda.

 

/---/

4th Age Gondor – Some years later

 

Arwen had sailed some years before, her immortality preserved and Eldarion ascended to the throne. Boromir and Aragorn felt the effects of their age and had retired to a house on the coastal lands to live out their days in peace. They honored each other and cared for each other in sickness and in health for all the days of their lives.

 

Years ago they had talked about the dreams they’d had and concluded that there had been a purpose for those dreams in showing them what might have been.

 

“What dreams may come, what might have been.” murmured Aragorn as they lay in bed one night. “It was to give us a glimpse of one possible path our lives may have taken…” Aragorn assured him.

 

“I am glad we were gifted with the lives we have lived.”

 

“As am I, my love. As am I.”

 

They held each other all through that night, as though they would never let go.

 

Boromir passed first, as he was not of the long-lived stock of the Dúnedain. Aragorn lived on for some years alone yet content. He would not have given up his life for anything and he passed from this world to the next to meet his lover beyond the boundaries of the world.

 

The End.


End file.
